


About Time

by mcal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Complete, Coworkers - Freeform, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Oneshot, Professors, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 12:52:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17426264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcal/pseuds/mcal
Summary: Draco Malfoy walks into Hermione Granger's private quarters to return a book, and finds her starting a fire in a floating rubbish bin. Dramione coworkers. ONESHOT. EWE. COMPLETE





	About Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hystaracal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hystaracal/gifts).



> A/N: This started out as a drabble, inspired by a prompt from HeartOfAspen. I wanted to bring a smile to my friend Hystaracal. As you can see, the drabble quickly ran away from me.
> 
> Alpha thanks to Kyonomiko who said it wasn't rubbish. Love and Huffleclaw hearts to Hystaracal and CourtingInsanity who encouraged me to share. And gave some minor beta tips here and there. It's otherwise unbeta'd and all errors you see are mine.
> 
> I own nothing.

* * *

 

"You're _not_ being strange, and there is definitely nothing peculiar about this," Draco muttered to himself, dark professor robes billowing out behind him as he marched down an empty corridor. "There is nothing dubious in returning a book to Granger's personal library in her quarters. She gave you the password for this exact purpose - so that you _could_ pop in and out and exchange a book any time. Nothing untoward about this; it hardly matters _at all_ that you're curious if she's actually there or not. You're just going to drop off a book."

He gave a matter-of-fact huff of finality, raking his free hand through his trimmed short hair.

Because _it_ mattered. It mattered _very much_ to him if Granger was on campus or not. It _mattered_ that Granger hadn't been at dinner tonight, which was not _unusual_ for the past couple of months, but it mattered nonetheless.

Hang it all! It _mattered_ that Granger had been oddly distant and absent most of the week. They'd been friends for almost two years now, and it _mattered._

Salazar help him, it mattered to the point of insanity that this unexplained absence likely had everything to do with a sodding bloke. With... _with…_ " _Walter."_ He growled the prick's name out loud, pausing mid-step to scuff the toe of his custom-ordered Italian leather left shoe against the stone floor.

Ugh.

This irrational possessive nonsense had him purposefully acting as a spoiled child going out of his way to ruin a pair of shoes because he wasn't getting his way. Not only that, but this madnesshad him worked to such a state that he was resorting to petty, nay, _plebeian_ , name calling of someone he'd never met (although _that_ mattered very little in comparison to the state of his shoes).

He sighed to himself, fixating on the staircase leading down to Granger's floor. In fact, from things she had told him of _Walter_ , he seemed to be the precise opposite of a prick. He sounded bloody perfect. While the name still implied he may or may not be a prig, he otherwise sounded to be a veritable Muggle prince charming; the star hero in this fairy tale, with full intent to sweep the witch off her feet every opportunity he had to see her.

And it wasn't it simply plummy that a meeting of pure happenstance in the Christmas hamper section of some massive shop in Muggle London called 'Harrods' had reunited Granger to her primary school chum over Christmas hols? Almost six months later, and Draco could just kick himself for opting to spend that entire fateful day freezing his arse off with Teddy in round after endless round of 'find the Snitch', when he could have been with Granger and possibly stopped this reunion from the beginning.

He stalked much harder than necessary down three floors of a spiral staircase, turning left down another empty corridor.

Could one _truly_ consider this dalliance with _Walter_ 'dating' if the couple only communicated through weekly letters and saw each other on a scheduled occasion one or two Saturdays a month? Was it even a relationship if she hadn't revealed to him the fact that she was a witch? What on earth could two such different and unlikely souls find to have in common for the foundations of something?

His grip tightened on the book as he continued his steady descent down the stone stairs, student's voices and portraits' chatter now reverberating in that annoying way as was only possible in an ancient castle made of stone.

Walter was _nothing_ if one compared _Draco's_ daily interaction with the witch. There was breakfast, lunch and dinner. There were the beautiful twice or thrice weekly days when Granger would pop into his potions classroom at the end of the day to discuss their O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students. They would plan extra study sessions to help their students prepare, decide on harmonising extra office hours over specific weekends and plot detention assignments with each other.

There was also the fact that Granger certainly never volunteered to patrol the castle and grounds with any other professor this year. In fact, they'd been patrolling together for the entirety of his time as professor at Hogwarts...Likely because no one else wantedto partner with him in the beginning and Longbottom was a fresh newlywed at the time, and generally otherwise _occupied_ in the evenings (though, he usually saw fit to join the staff for breakfast).

It was on one of those first patrols almost two years ago that she told him she'd forgiven him. He'd said she already told him that several years back, when they'd exchanged a few letters after she testified at his trial after the war, but she said that hadn't counted. _This time,_ it was in person. So, he apologised again, because there was just something ethereal and enchanting about Granger's eyes and flowing curls in the moonlight, and the words just tumbled out of him.

And she forgave him. She'd called him 'Draco' ever since. His named rolled off her tongue in a unique way that made his heart stutter and clench, and he felt the need to bury and hide this vulnerability. He told her she'd be 'Granger' to him, since everyone else called her 'Hermione'. He thought he caught a lovely darkening to her cheeks after that, but then again, it could have just been a trick of the moonlight.

They'd been friends ever since. He had access to her _private library_ for Merlin sake! It may be his own fault that he'd only _just_ talked himself into asking the witch on a proper date the first weekend back from Christmas holiday this year. That he'd only _just_ convinced himself he had as much right as anyone to ask the incredible witch out when she settled in to her seat next to him at dinner - all aglow. Beaming, girlish and gushing over Walter…

_Walter_ , who she hadn't seen in _years_. Who was some bloody doctor or psycho-something or other. Who was apparently quite _tall_. And fit. And had blue eyes. And 'adorable freckles'. He'd seen a photo of Walter in Granger's room last month and couldn't help but notice the striking similarities to a certain Weasley she once dated; not that he was going to point out what should be quite obvious, in his opinion…

He scoffed, coming to an abrupt halt at Granger's door and cast a _Muffliato_ over himself before barking out her password (never knew what student might be lurking where after all, ready to pull some end-of-the-year prank). The door gave a satisfactory _click_ , groaning as he swung it open, stomping across the threshold…

...Halting in his tracks as an orange and yellow flame roared to life from a levitating rubbish bin in the middle of Granger's common room.

He blinked, not entirely trusting his eyes as _Granger_ stood near the floating bin, her back to the door, and summoned something with a vociferous ' _Accio'._

Granger, in all of her casual glory of Muggle denims that just did something _marvelous_ to her arse. Feet bare. Curls wild and loose. He couldn't summon a breath, and just stood there, rooted to the floor like an idiot as a parcel flew to the witch from her open bedroom door on the other side of the common room (near the bookshelves). Granger didn't give the bundle a second glance before tossing it into the flames, a string of strong curse words flowing from her mouth.

His cheeks burned for intruding on such an obvious emotional scene, and for just a moment, he rocked on his heels, eyes sliding back to the door...But then, he looked back to the witch, who was apparently so engrossed with her handiwork that she'd yet to notice someone had entered her room.

He forced out a exaggerated cough along with a "knock, knock," that sounded more like a shocked toad croaking than anything.

"Draco!" The witch turned, chestnut curls whipping around her face, the surprise in her wide cinnamon sprinkled almond eyes mirroring his. In fact, she was startled to the point that the levitating spell on the bin wavered, which had both witch and wizard acting in unison - Draco casting secondary levitation spell, while Hermione gasped and doused the flame with an ' _Aguamenti_ '.

Their stunned addresses croaked over each other:

"What in Salazar's name are you - "

"I'm so sorry, Draco, did we - "

"No, we weren't meet - "

"I'm purging my life of mem - "

The pair simultaneously ceased talking: Granger by snapping her jaw shut and clapping a hand over her mouth, and Draco by pressing his lips into a thin line, raking his free hand through his now tousled hair. Merlin, he wished he had discarded these suffocating robes back in the room when he grabbed the book...

"Just to clarify," Granger started again, hand beginning a slow and graceful descent back to her side resting over a faded casual shirt, "you're not here because we had a meeting I've forgotten about, correct?" She made a casual gesture, which made the bin drop to her coffee table, swirling on its round bottom several times before settling completely on the flat surface; none of its ashy contents spilling.

Blink twice. Shallow breath; she really was amazing, this witch. "Just dropping off your book," he managed, bringing the leather bound novel up from his side, waving over it in obvious display. He allowed his brows to quirk in humour next, asking, "Is that on the table your idea of cleaning out your room at the end of the school year?" knowing full well that couldn't be the explanation.

If, in fact, he would receive _any_ explanation.

The witch shook her head. "Not at all, but it can wait." An obviously obligatory smile formed on her lips as she tilted her head and delicate fingers beckoned him further in the common room, side-stepping around the table in the direction of the organised bookshelf. "So, finished it already, or simply decided it wasn't worth your time and needed something new to fill your evenings the last week of term?"

"Eh…" Draco gave a thoughtful stroke of his chin. "It wasn't my favourite, if I'm being honest with you. The sister relationship wasn't something I could quite relate to. Plus, I think Miss Alcott was cruel to prime the audience for a romance between Jo and Laurie, and then have him marry the selfish youngest sister, while Jo married some intellectual with dried up balls."

Granger sputtered. Then snorted. Then laughed outright, leaning into the bookshelf. "You don't think he would have been as attractive as Laurie?"

"It's not about that," Draco started, sliding the book back to its appreciate home on the shelf. "They were pulled apart to grow before finally coming back together, ready for a life of love and eternal bliss. Your Jane Austen employs a similar formula, but this Alcott woman gave her readers the plot twist they never suspected." He uttered a theatrical gasp, bringing a hand to his heart. "The beloved of old returns to bring comfort to the grieving and healing family, and what trickery is this?! We see he has _married_! And the blushing bride is the youngest sister, who burned Jo's manuscript in a fit of rage all those many years ago!" He narrowed his eyes in a show of scolding. "And then, we can do nothing but watch in utter _horror_ as Jo March marries the professor because he helped get her book published and she doesn't want to grow old alone."

The scheming theatrics did not receive the intended accolades of laughter and merriment. Quite the opposite in fact.

Hermione was gnawing on her lower lip, red-rimmed eyes darting between the direction of the coffee table and her books - how had he not noticed the puffy red of her eyes before? She sniffed, threading her fingers together over the front of her Muggle denims. "I suppose another way of looking at it is that they grew apart as they aged, and they wouldn't have fit together for marriage in the end." Her voice shook, knuckles whitening, eyes seeming to focus on an unseen figure beyond him. "It's nice to think they each found a second chance with love."

She wasn't talking about the book now.

He swallowed, taking a cautious step in her direction. "You okay, Granger?"

She didn't even bother with a typical Gryffindor brave mask. Her face fell, mouth twisting with silent sob. "Not at the moment. But I will be." She swiped at brimming eyes, and his feet moved of their own accord, bringing him to the appropriate proximity necessary for laying a gentle hand to her shoulder. "I'm always alright in the end, Draco. Stiff upper lip and all that positive rot. It always works out for the best, yeah?"

His fingers applied comforting pressure around her shoulder. At least, he hoped it was comforting. "Doesn't mean you have to focus on that futuristic ideal just yet. We can talk about it for a bit, if you'd like that is."

"Not really, to be honest," she admitted roughly, "but it seems my tear ducts have better ideas…" She trailed off, her bottom lip quivering. She took several ragged breaths, attention seemingly honed in on the rubbish bin on the coffee table, and finally slid her eyes over to him. With a sigh so deep her chest heaved, she lifted her wand. " _Accio photographs,"_ she summoned, a large stack flying from her bedroom behind through the open door to their right.

"Walter and I are done," she said, flat and final, flicking again for the stack of photos to land on the coffee table. "To sum it up, the proverbial cauldron blew up in my face in such a way that would put Seamus Finnigan to shame."

Draco made a face, shifting and dropping his hand, tentatively reaching said hand around to her _other_ shoulder, something inside him purring and coiling when she sagged into his half embrace. He remembered to breathe. "Sounds like a spectacular ending." And wanted to cast an Unforgivable on himself for such idiocy.

"Oh, it was." Granger gave a merciful dark chuckle, nudging the inside of his shoulder with her shoulder. "Ministry official was there to _Obliviate_ him and everything."

"Pardon?" He could tell his mother that years of etiquette drills in his formative years paid off; he managed an appropriate incredulous response in light of great surprise.

Granger hummed, giving a sharp nod. "So, two weeks ago, Walter asked what I had planned for summer hols - I believe you know I told him I'm a teacher - and he asked if I thought we could go on a holiday together for a couple of weeks. Something with a bit of adventure and romance -" (Salazar help him, he caught that growl at the back of his throat just in time!) "- and with a bit of relaxation. Probably include foods with far too many calories. The usual sort of couple get away, I suppose."

She gulped a breath while his heart bashed against its bony cage. "I told him I would need to think about it, which I did." She took another shaky breath. "I put a great deal of thought and research into it. Into what a trip like this would say and mean. I made a special appointment with someone at the Ministry last Saturday morning - did you know there are officials specifically trained in the art of _Obliviating_?" She scoffed, almost to herself. "Wish I'd felt I could trust the Ministry enough nine years ago, but I digress."

Draco brought his left hand to her left elbow, leading them to her sofa. He'd learned first term last school year that her parents had been in Australia since the summer before what would have been seventh year. And they still had no knowledge of having a daughter.

Her eyes never left the stack of photos as they padded across the stone floor. "So, I went through the proper channels and several hours later, on a strolling date through lesser known paths of Hyde Park, a Ministry official under a Disillusion charm followed Walter and I while I told him. To be precise, I let him hear me when I cast a wandless silencing charm, and watched his face go from stunned disbelief when I said I'm a witch, and turn to silent horror, and end on the solid note of horrified terror before the Ministry official stepped in."

She shuddered as he pulled her down to the sofa. His mind reeled, there must be some words of comfort he could offer…

"I'm sure you're remembering the worst of it because you shared yourself in one of the most vulnerable ways anyone can...aside from sex, that is…" He winced, cursing himself to Merlin's grave and back.

The witch's head drooped and she started toeing a leg of the coffee table nearest her. "Yes, well, there had only been a few instances of that and I very nearly blew it then by telling him I'm on the potion." Bullocks, he hadn't needed to know that. "But, it's hard not to remember the worst of it when it all seems dreadful: it started with a twist of dark humour with him asking what was he supposed to tell his friends and colleagues I did, now that I wasn't a 'proper teacher'." She made a face, stiffening against him, as if fortifying herself. "There was a joke about warts and pointy hats and riding a broomstick, and the pièce de résistance was when the truth of my parents came out."

Her voice shook, twin tears tracking down her cheeks. "He said his parents always wondered about mine disappearing so suddenly and did my magic have anything to do with that...I think he already had an idea by that point, but just wanted confirmation. I tried to keep it vague, reiterating that they were living and practicing in Australia now, but he pressed...That look when I told him I erased myself from their lives and moved them for their safety was pure horrified terror with a dash of disgust. The Ministry official silenced him right after he _inquired_ -" (her tone implied she meant ' _accused_ ') "- if there would ever be a day I would turn my wand on him for his 'safety'." She used air quotes for emphasis of the Muggle's disgust and squeezed her eyes shut, face falling into her hands.

There was nothing for it, he started to rub soothing circles over her back, mind whirling. "Maybe he just needed time to process it all…" Her head shook hard from side-to-side, and bugger him for trying once more to defend _Walter_ … "You talked him up enough, but it could have been a bit overwhelming all at once. Maybe he just needed some time to process; do you think it was best to have him _Obliviated_ right then and there?"

A low moan came from her hands, mournful and thick. She sat upright, sliding all of her curls over her left? shoulder, full brown eyes meeting his. "The thing is," she started, "even if we spent all summer talking through it, we'd go back to long distance at the start of the school year, and he had some traveling coming up this fall. We'd be apart so much, I'd never feel quite settled there wouldn't be some part of him that still thought of me and my previous actions with a degree of disgust or horror. Which would make me hesitant to even perform magic around him...I suppose if we were in love and had talked of marriage and the like it would have been different…"

She trailed off, leaving him to prompt with an, "oh?" that he hoped didn't sound as strangled as it felt. The witch shrugged, blank eyes blinking slowly as she settled back into the sofa, and consequently, his arms, so that she was so very nearly cuddling into his chest he could have beamed.

He shook himself, telling his mind to get a bloody grip and cleared his throat. "Please don't take this to minimise the pain in his words, but, at the risk of bringing up the past, I've said much worse to you." He grimaced, face contorting as she faced him completely. "Consistently. Over the span of many years, not just one night…yet here _we_ sit…" He made a show of pointing a finger back and forth in the minuscule space between their chests.

A wry smile answered him. "I sort of had to forgive you, Draco."

"You did no -"

"Hear me out, please," she cut him off, shifting, drawing a knee to her chest and leaning in. Merlin, she smelled bloody delectable. "I did. You saved my life, I spoke at your trial, we exchanged a few cordial letters and that was that. Life went on: I came back to Hogwarts, while you took your N.E.W.T.'s privately and went off to France to study under a potion master. And then you started publishing your research." Her smile shot through him. "I've read every article you published in the _Potioneers_ _Journal_ the five years following my eighth year."

He sat blinking, remembering breath was necessary for life as she dropped her foot and scooted _even closer_ … "I've heard for years how invested you've been with your mother, aunt and Teddy, even when living in a different country. You taught Teddy to read and write, which is...commendable. And admirable. So, when Professor Slughorn announced he wanted to retire for good this time, I recommended Headmistress McGonagall reach out to you. After your interview, she said you may need some encouragement working with children, and I said I would help you. Well, we _all_ did," she amended, "but I especially had a hard transition from student to teacher. I already knew you could make a meaningful difference with one child, you didn't need half the encouragement I did first starting out..."

Merlin, he wanted to kiss her. To drag her to his lap, lose his hands forever in that mass of curls and taste those perfect rose petal lips…"Much as I appreciate that," he managed, blinking and making an effort to remain perfectly still, to _not_ lean any closer, "you still chose to put the time in. And to open your library up to me," he paused for her to catch the grateful quirking at the corners of his mouth as he made a brief gesture behind them. "You could have chosen that route again."

There was a thick swallow as she seemed to contemplate his words, breathing in soft huffs and not moving away (not shifting closer, either, but, _not_ edging away…). "I suppose I could have," she conceded. "But I think it would have called for a great many sacrifices on my part to make it work. I love too much about this life to make those sacrifices. It was a gamble dating a Muggle from my past in the first place…" A luscious pink filled her cheeks, which she tried to cover with a nonchalant shrug. "I guess I was just caught up at the prospect of having a bit of romance in my life after a long dry spell..."

Salazar, had she set the bin on fire again? It was stifling. it was sweltering. It was bloody overwhelming…

She scoffed before he had a chance to respond. "Oh well, yeah?" She slid her eyes over to the coffee table, severing the tempting tendril beckoning him to her lips, to pillow them with his own... "Guess I should go on and finish the job with the rest of the photos…" The inflection in her tone - was she asking his opinion?

Exhale. "Are you sure you don't want to keep any of them?" Careful inhale. He cared too much to have her regret something in months to come. And decided to tell her just that: "I mean, we can't have you kicking yourself at some point in the future for burning away half a year of memories." Coward. It was some approximation of what he was thinking at least.

She considered him a moment, a pensive moment. Her chocolate irises bore the distinct expressions of something sombre. Something weighty and significant. With a extended exhale, she looked back to the table, taking one long, last look at the photographs. And then, with a swift and sharp flick of her wand, she dropped the entire stack into rubbish bin, setting the container ablaze once again with a muttered ' _Incendio'_.

"This is Hogwarts, Draco." Her voice was low and silken, and the way the golden flames reflected in her eyes, he would always swear that was the moment he lost his heart to Hermione Granger. "I'll borrow Minerva's bloody Pensive if I want to look back at the memories."

Their laughter mingled and danced in perfect harmony as they watched the flaming bin.

* * *

"You'll pace yourself into a trench at the rate you're going, Draco," Narcissa Malfoy drawled, not bothering to glance up from the most recent edition of _Witch Weekly_

"And for all that talent at running and flying, you're really quite rubbish at jumping," Theo teased, "and I'm certainly not going to expend good energy or magic helping you out of a ditch of your own making."

"Sod off." Draco cast a stinging hex in the direction of his friend without pausing in stride.

"Missed!" Theo dodged the spell easily, and would likely have retaliated with something of his own design had they not been having tea in the solarium, which happened to be Narcissa's pride and joy at Malfoy Manor. Instead, the wizard stepped wide around the lounging matriarch, tossed a vulgar gesture Draco's way (which Draco caught through the corner of his eye) and flung himself back on a chaise lounge. "You wouldn't be in such a fit of nerves if you'd taken my advice to heart at the beginning of the summer, mate."

"I told you it was too soon," Draco huffed, deciding he should alter the width of his steps and count how many less it would take to cross from one row of plants to the other now.

"Which I ignored all summer long," Theo countered, pulling himself upright, gesturing to Narcissa. "Talk some womanly sense into your son, Narcissa. _Please_. This suspense with 'The Great Letter Exchange' with Granger this summer, the occasional invitation to family high tea and then the odd dinner with Andromeda and Teddy has been maddenning. End this insanity!"

"You're on your own this time, Theodore." The matriarch flipped a page over, levelling a sharp gaze between the two wizards. "I'm in agreement with my son on this - right after the relationship ended would have been too soon. This way, Draco's given her time to heal and insert himself as a solid contender without being tacky about it."

Draco beamed at his mother's defense while Theo threw himself backwards again, indistinct mutterings lifting from his lips.

"Do enunciate and speak louder if you wish to contribute something meaningful, Theodore."

"Meaningful?!" Theo shot upright, throwing his gangly form that he never quite grew into into a dramatic standing and gesticulating position. "He's been halfway in love with Granger since a month into the first term his _first_ year as a professor. It is now the first day of September the _third_ fall term of his professorship at Hogwarts. It took over twelve sodding months for him to work it out with himself to ask her on a bloody date. The Muggle - "

" _Walter._ " mother and son chimed in unison...

Which Theo dismissed with an airy wave of his hand. "Semantics. And immaterial, because he's out of the picture in a permanent fashion now anyway. My point _is_ ," he lingered here, elongating single-syllable word to ensure he held his audience of two (three, counting himself) captive. "there is such a thing as 'summer romance' for a reason." His gaze narrowed, focusing on Draco. "You could have swept her away to some picturesque seaside holiday. It could have been balming to her broken heart, with you there to pick up the pieces and _apply the bloody balm yourself._ "

Draco permitted himself three blinks before filling the silence with an honest response. "I'm not in this for rebound shags -"

His mother gasped, dropping the magazine in her lap -

To have the son rolling his eyes. "I'm being a gentleman here, Mother. I've obviously become quite antsy in my waiting, and biding my time for the long-term, which I am hoping has paid off. Do please grant me the courtesy of the occasional crude word -"

"Unless you'd rather him say 'rebound intercourse' or -"

Theo's lips continued moving, even as no sound passed from his lips. The gangly former-Slytherin threw his hands in the air, glaring in faux anger as Draco smirked, brimming with pride at his mother.

"That will be quite enough from you, Theodore." The matriarch rose with elegant poise, vanishing her magazine from her hands, likely back to her room to finish tonight. She hummed a little something to herself as she took each wizard by an arm, slipping an arm through theirs. "And making a face about your current silent state will do you no good, either," she admonished. "We're going to enjoy a quiet walk back to the library where I'll lift the silencing charm so you can bid Draco a fond farewell. You can make up for being a such a flibbertigibbet, young man, by assisting me with some de-gnoming before dinner."

Draco cut his friend a smug expression as his mother led them to the library.

* * *

"Just knock, you imbecile," Draco groused to himself, frozen outside the door to Granger's private quarters. The sorting hat had sung his song, the first years had been sorted, the feast had been eaten. Granger's smile had shone brighter than the summer sun itself from across the table, but that was all he'd received from her, as she rushed through the Great Hall only moments before the students began milling in. She looked glorious from her holiday with the Potter family the last two weeks of August, and her eyes seemed to twinkle at him in hidden message.

Or maybe that had been all the candlelight playing tricks on his eyes.

Either way, here he stood. Outside Granger's door. Under the guise of requesting a new book to begin his fall reading. Decided in his rehearsed script to ask her for a simple butterbeer and dinner this weekend.

The door opened before he could knock, and a pair of wide brown eyes blinked at him, before crinkles formed at the corners. "I guess you had the same idea." She giggled and held up a book in her hands. He smirked and shrugged, heart pounding as she motioned for him to enter, caught up in Granger in all her casual splendor.

They laughed and she walked right up to him and kissed him, without any hint of hesitancy. He forced the book from her hand and answered her eagerly. Slanting his lips over hers, nipping, sucking and sighing until she opened her mouth to him and they were tasting. Binding their arms around one another and savouring.

And shedding articles of clothing one-by-one as they kissed their way through her quarters. His robes and Slytherin tie by the door. Her cardigan and shirt near the coffee table. His shoes, socks and belt and her denims by the bookshelves. His shirt and trousers just as they crossed the threshold into her room. His boxers, her bra and knickers just as they landed on her bed in a symphony of fumbling exploratory bliss.

He remembered a humming sigh of relief when Granger murmured to him that he wasn't a rebound shag. He would vaguely recall mumbling some response about Hogsmeade that weekend just as darkness and exhausted afterglow claimed them for the night.

They woke before Granger's alarm to an elegant fusion of pinks, purples, blues and oranges, befitting a sunrise over an ancient castle. What happened afterwards in a tangle of limbs and sheets and then continued in a haze of steam and water under a shower head could be debated as quite scandalous indeed; especially when Hermione teased him they'd not even had a proper date.

Draco snorted and snatched up her hand, saying that would be taken care of in a few days. He laced his fingers through hers as they stepped through the double doors of the Great Hall together to join their fellow professors at the breakfast table

Granger flushed as Headmistress McGonagall swirled her cup of tea, smirked and informed the two of them that they'd be in charge of inner-house unity activities this year. Draco only sniffed, giving a curt nod in response before asking Longbottom to pass the marmalade.

But when the wizard muttered something that sounded like "about damn time," as he levitated the pot to Draco, Draco couldn't help but agree.

And give Hermione's hand another squeeze before releasing his hold to fix his toast.

About damn time indeed.

* * *

**Thank you for reading!**

* * *


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